


Bermuda Triangle

by fabricdragon



Series: The 2nd Sheriarty 30 Day challenge [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Demisexuality, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, F/M, M/M, Mermaids, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pansexual Character, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sherlock Holmes on the Asexuality Spectrum, Songfic, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:22:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: follows after London Calling, but should be understandable without it (reading the previous fics will help though)Sherlock goes back to New York, and Jim Moriarty... and they then go to Bermuda to catch up to Sebastian Moran, and wait for Molly...relationship building, smut, and mermaids.For those starting here? Charlie (Charles Jameson) is Moriarty; John Sebastian is Sebastian Moran's other identity and Sherlock has been going by William a great deal (William Sherlock Scott Holmes).  Mermaids refers to silicone or scuba material mermaid tails, and the mermaids of the Dive Parlor and Weeki Waachi springs, NOT magical mermaids





	1. Chapter 1

For all that he had wanted to get back to Jim–Charlie–sooner, it had taken a solid month to deal with “immediate” matters in London, and then three more weeks before he actually got the flight back to New York.

They’d had several extremely filthy sex-by-phone-call-or-text sessions the first few days after his conversation with Molly and–amazingly–Mycroft had had the bugs pulled out of his bedroom almost immediately after the second one; after that, they had Skype sex at least once a week. Charlie had emailed to have two people added to the permissions–strictly temporary, one time things–and both Sebastian and Sherlock had reluctantly agreed: it turned out only one of them ended up in bed with him.

Sherlock and Sebastian both felt terribly smug when they got complaints for the next week that he wasn’t enjoying casual shags any more, but then found out that this meant Sebastian had to travel to New York, or Charlie had to work from Florida, in order to keep Charlie from getting bored. The game design was over with and the marketing was mostly established, so the game company wasn’t taking up his mind like it had been.

A bored Jim Moriarty–even now–did not bear contemplating.

Sebastian had gone ahead to his home in Bermuda, and Sherlock was glad to finally be on the way back to New York. He was looking forward to his surprise for Jim and Sebastian–assuming he survived the flight. Not only was he too wound up to sleep on the flight at first, but then he was too aggravated by the noise, by people too close, and by the smells and sounds. Getting through customs was an exercise in willpower, and the less said about the taxicab ride into the city, the better. By the time he finally arrived at Charlie’s apartment in New York City, he was on the verge of a meltdown.

Charlie took one look at him–tense, tired, and almost vibrating with stress–and wrapped him in a blanket on the sofa. Sherlock vaguely recalled snapping at him, at the lights, and at the existence of international travel before he passed out.

He woke up stripped of his shoes and belt, wrapped in a different blanket, and in the spare bedroom.

He slunk out to the kitchen to find Charlie in just his trousers, dancing to the music on his earbuds while making breakfast. He hung back until he was certain he wouldn’t surprise him and then waved.

Charlie took out his earbuds. “Feeling better?”

“I’m sorry I was in such a horrid mood when I got in.”

“It’s alright, Sherl, I despise traveling like that. I always want to stab someone by the time I land.”

“Believe me, I sympathize.”

Charlie’s body language bled into Jim’s. “Since you seem to be all healed up… we could play with ropes… I took today off.”

Sherlock kept the nonchalant look on his face with effort. “Well, you’ll have to be careful of the new tattoos.”

“New tattoos?! Oh my God, you got them and didn’t TELL me?” Charlie put down a plate of food in front of him. “You fiend! I thought you were going to tell me and send me a photo!”

“I wanted to see your face.”

Charlie looked hesitant. “I got Tiger’s tattoo… I wanted to wait for yours until you were here…”

Sherlock set into the food. “This is very good… No, that’s fine; I just found an artist whose work I liked so I had him do yours and Sebastian’s at the same time.” Sherlock paused. “It really does seem addictive.”

“Yeah… So which part of you can’t I poke at?”

“Well, in addition to the treatments on my back…” Sherlock paused until Jim nodded impatiently, “Yours is near the memento mori ink… Sebastian’s is along my ribs.” Sherlock smirked, anticipating Jim’s reaction. “Of course, I also got a piercing…”

Jim shrieked and then started trying to pull him off the chair. “I have to see this, NOW!!!!”

“But you made this lovely breakfast…” Sherlock said with his very best innocent voice.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! You… you…” Jim sputtered at him.

Sherlock finished every bite of the breakfast and stood up slowly and stretched. Jim promptly stalked up to him. “Ok, march.”

Sherlock looked down at the shock of blue hair and grinned, “I do believe I got the color right.”

Jim started to open his mouth and Sherlock held a hand up. “Going… I’m going.” He turned and walked into the main bedroom.

He wasn’t in the slightest surprised to see padded cuffs, ropes, and an assortment of toys laid out neatly on the dresser–almost obsessively lined up, in fact.

“Do I take it you’ve been impatient?”

“Nooooo, William, whatever gave you that idea. “ Jim rolled his eyes. “Sebie went on ahead to Bermuda two weeks ago and Tam has been busy.”

“So you’ve just been all by yourself just… polishing your leathers?” Sherlock purred at him.

“You… are an evil bastard.”

“You always did say we were alike…” Sherlock chuckled. “Sit on the bed and close your eyes… or I’ll blindfold you–I wanted this to be a surprise.”

Jim stared at him, muttered, “We created a monster,” and closed his eyes.

Sherlock kept his body angled to hide the ink until he was completely stripped. “Alright, open your eyes but stay still.”

Jim did, then almost immediately asked, “What’s that on your back?”

“Scar remediation bandaging. Technically, I should have taken a shower by now and gotten them changed, but…”

“Oh. Okay, whatever… Where’s the ink? What did you get pierced? You can’t tease me like this, Sherly…”

“I could have tied you down and then blindfolded you and THEN teased you,” Sherlock said, turning slowly to let him see the tiger tattoo.

~

Jim was going insane with curiosity–and Sherlock knew it–but he did get a bit derailed by the bandaging on his back.

Then Sherlock turned the tiger tattoo into view. Sherlock had obviously found a master tattooist: there was a tiger, in the style of Chinese or Japanese brushstroke art, leaping and snarling along his ribs in black ink–the barest hint of green in the eyes was the only color.

Jim came off the bed slowly marveling at it. “That’s stunning… I want them to do your tattoo on me…” He hesitantly traced the still-healing tattoo with a fingertip. The artist had worked the tiger around a few of his less severe and older scars–the ones that traced over his ribs–as if they were bamboo, or a forest. It looked less like a tattoo and more like someone had painted a tiger in black brushstrokes on his side.

Jim didn’t notice Sherlock turning to give him a better view until he went to look up and the words died in his throat.

Sherlock had a magpie done by the same hand–brushstrokes of black ink, except for two swipes of blue that matched his hair on its wings–and it was curled around his pectoral muscle with…

He’d gotten one nipple pierced, just one, and the Magpie was after the shiny…

Jim whimpered and bit his lip to keep from throwing the man onto the bed.

“I take it that it meets with your approval?”

Jim only had one answer for that and pulled him down into a kiss. He only backed off enough to breathe as he maneuvered Sherlock onto the bed.

“You better be rested enough because you are only leaving this bed to shower and eat…” Jim growled.

“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, Sherlock I like it’ then?” Sherlock laughed and spread himself out on the bed.

Jim didn’t bother with the toys or the restraints, he just started stroking and petting him and watching the man unravel under compliments.

“You are the most devastatingly brilliant, gorgeous man, and I am going to devour you…” Jim murmured into his stomach as he worked his way down.

“God, I missed you…” Sherlock breathed and then Jim set to work reducing him to incoherent moans.

Jim had intended a hundred things, but he forced himself to go slowly. Sherlock and he were both horrible at sentiment, but Jim knew that Sherlock expressed himself through art more than words: the care taken with the magpie and the ring was a million words. Jim didn’t know how to return the sentiment–he tried to show it with his tongue and his hands, making Sherlock’s pleasure a priority over his own; he thought he understood.

~

Sherlock lay there quietly with Jim resting his head against the unmarked side of his chest. Jim was staring across at the magpie, and the piercing.

“Charlie? Jim….” Sherlock hesitated and then continued, “You know I haven’t… I still have nightmares… Serbia.”

“I would imagine… I still have a few of my own,” Jim answered softly, and reached out again to gently play with the ring in Sherlock’s nipple; Sherlock moaned.

“I won’t be able to say this if you keep… distracting me…”

Jim trailed his fingers down to an unmarked part of Sherlock’s chest. “Go on?”

“I… know you said you enjoy receptive sex… but it has… memories you don’t…”

“Now that you’re here, when we go to Bermuda–”

Sherlock shook his head, “I was thinking… that we could… work on two problems at the same time.”

“Oh?”

Sherlock brought his wrists together–the marks were healed, and the scars were fading–and slowly raised his arms overhead to touch the headboard.

“I think I would find it hard to panic… and to remember why I hate having my wrists restrained in metal… if I was in you and on a soft bed… and I suspect that having me cuffed to the bed would rather reduce your concerns…”

Jim drew in a breath. “That’s brilliant…”

“Of course it is,” Sherlock said solemnly with a nod, and then with a smirk, “I’m also very modest.”

“Put your hands down, honey… That needs a bit… a bit of thought and planning… but it’s still brilliant, and I do want to try it–I don’t want to hurt your wrists though.”

Sherlock brought his hands down and wrapped his arms around Jim. “I wouldn’t mind just… being here with you, but I know you want more.”

“And I’ll GET more, darling–believe me–but I do want to spend time with you in general… well… in bed, but we can talk.” Jim wriggled closer.

Sherlock smiled and ran a hand through Jim’s hair and down his back; Jim shivered happily. “It’s been so odd, in London: John and Mary are actually doing well, now that they are talking about real issues, and Mycroft has apparently been replaced by a pod person.”

“Oh?”

“He’s smiling… I mean happily, not like a threat: it’s odd.”

“Good God! You mean if I had just gotten him laid he might have turned human?!”

Sherlock laughed, “I don’t THINK they’ve gotten that far, but I have to admit I underestimated Greg: once he got the idea, he’s been aggressively pursuing Mycroft.”

“Oh?” Jim frowned. “I can only picture that ending badly for Greg.”

Sherlock shook his head, “They’ve gone out to dinner or lunch at least once a week, and Mycroft picked him up after a long shift on at least one occasion… and Greg says the CCTV cameras follow him; he thinks it’s cute.”

“Gah.” Jim made vague retching noises and shuddered. “It’s not cute to spy on people you’re involved with!”

“Says the man who was able to save my life because he could look through my phone.”

Jim paused. “It’s cute when I do it.”

Sherlock chuckled, “Yes, yes it is,” and then he grinned. “So, how about if we both go get a shower, you help me re-bandage things and then we can spend the rest of the day… oh… right here?”

“Sherlock, have I mentioned lately that you are utterly brilliant?” Jim smiled up at him. “I like this plan.”

“It’s a good plan,” Sherlock nodded solemnly.

“I always knew we’d be devastatingly brilliant together. Pity this isn’t an art theft.”

“Well, tattoos are art…”

Jim laughed and they went off to the shower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Neither ‘I hate you’ nor ‘you fucking bastard’ are your safe words, darling: hot or cold?”  
> A lot of smut, ok mostly smut. Sherlock had indicated a willingness to be tied down while Jim...

Jim insisted on using the padded cuffs the first time.

“We can move up to metal later,” Jim– because despite the shock of blue hair that smirk and that predator’s gaze was all Jim– said.

Jim was looking at William Sherlock Scott Holmes spread out on the bed, unable to do more than twitch… he was twitching a lot–pulling and twisting to see if there was any play in the restraints, which there wasn’t.

“Oh give it UP, honey.” Jim smirked, “you aren’t going anywhere until I let you.  Now you DO remember your safewords?”

“Obviously!” Sherlock snorted.

They went over them, and over the  non-verbal safeword signals just in case–three sharp snaps of his fingers.  Honestly though, Jim would stop if he even thought Sherly was trying to snap his fingers, but hey–no point telling him that.

“Why not gag me? Since we have non-verbal safe words?” Sherlock asked as Jim got a few things out that he hadn’t shown him. “and what are you doing?” his voice getting suspicious.

“Nothing!” Jim sing –songed in a very Moriarty way, “nothing to worry your pretty head about Sherlock…”

Sherlock frowned and growled, “I trust none of it exceeds my limits.” But he was already getting hard.

“And that’s why I wouldn’t gag you, darling… I want to hear that beautiful voice.”  He managed to stop himself from adding ‘beg’, even if he did. They’d tried to make him beg in Serbia–hadn’t worked of course, but he didn’t want to trigger any memories.

As to his own memories? Jim could manage this with Sherlock bound, he knew he could–he had, after all… it was… it was safe.  But knowing that Sherlock was trusting him with this… well… he just HAD to yank the chain a bit, didn’t he? He had to play… and that beautiful voice…

Jim started tracing the flavored gel over Sherlock, and then licking… and oh God he wanted to suck that nipple piercing until Sherlock bled and arched and screamed, but he was going to be good… so good.  He bit the other nipple, just a little.

He moved down his stomach, trailing black cherry and following it up with his tongue… until he reached Sherlock’s cock… he licked and nipped and didn’t quite touch it, and Sherlock started jerking in his restraints, trying to push up, to reach his mouth…

“Jim!  This…. This is drastically unfair…!”

“Of course it is, Sherlock… I’m reformed, not replaced…” Jim purred and looked up, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s across the length of his body. “Whatever made you think I was fair?”

Jim moved down and bit into his thigh, hard enough to hurt a bit but not hard enough to damage him–Sherlock moaned, locking his jaw against anything more revealing.  Jim drizzled black cherry across his balls and his leaking cock… and then went back to not quite licking there.

“Jim… Jim, you bastard…”

“Not a safe word.” Jim chuckled into Sherlock’s belly button and filled it with black cherry… he started lapping it up with just the tip of his tongue and Sherlock was arching and moaning and cursing… he cursed in French more often than English, which Jim thought was adorable.

When Sherlock was well and truly desperate–and his vocabulary had degenerated into single syllable words– Jim finally lowered his mouth.  It didn’t take much, of course, just a few swipes with the tongue and the threat of teeth–just the threat– and one good long dragging swallow and Sherlock came to Jim’s amused humming around him and tapping out musical rhythms with his fingers.

Sherlock was gasping when Jim finished with him.

“You…” he more or less trailed off.

“Yeah, me.” Jim smirked, “I’m still ME Sherlock, even if I’ve gotten a bit less murdery.”

“That almost killed me.” Sherlock said solemnly.

“So I guess I need to try harder?” Jim laughed on the last word and stroked Sherlock’s shaft–as over sensitized as he as was he twisted and gasped some more. “Oh honey, I was just making sure you got that out of your system before… I get you into mine.” 

Jim got the desensitizing lubricant out and held it in front of Sherlock’s nose.

“That’s for preventing… premature…” Sherlock’s eyes widened, “You would not!”

“Wouldn’t what?” he asked sweetly as he put it down next to him on the bed. Then he got out the somewhat spicier lubricant, “decisions… decisions…”

“Jim…” Sherlock’s voice took on something in between a wheedle and a plea, “Charlie… you… you wouldn’t…”

“Oh good heavens, Charlie? Charlie would use both… after all he’s a wild and party loving guy.” Jim smirked, “what a good idea, William… both it is.”

“But they… I don’t… they wouldn’t work together?”

“Oh sure they would.” Jim said getting Sherlock hard enough to put a condom on.  Then he slicked him up thoroughly with the desensitizer and squirted more into the condom for good measure. “There you go… that should ensure me a NICE long ride…”

Sherlock was glaring at him, “Nothing nice about it.” he muttered.

“Hey, anytime you want to safeword I will totally stop… full stop… do not pass go, do not get the thank you very much blowjob.”

Sherlock cursed him out in German.

“Oh baby…” Jim dropped the last shreds of Charlie and pulled himself up to smile his maddest smile down at Sherlock, “you.love.it.” and he leaned down and took Sherlock’s lip in his teeth and laughed.

~

Sherlock had the dizzying sensation of watching Jim be… more and more… Jim.  He was still Charlie–he had learned to care about people and he wasn’t going to suddenly decide to leave Sherlock tied to a bed to go off and commit a crime or anything…

But there was a rather nerve wracking understanding that CHARLIE wouldn’t hurt anyone in bed; that CHARLIE wouldn’t push your limits, really, or decide to experiment in things you had never discussed…

He wasn’t so sure about JIM.

Jim loved him–had always loved him– but Jim was violent in some ways that Charlie had managed to tame, and Jim went beyond ‘spontaneous’ and into ‘chaos incarnate’.

And when Jim had started setting things up to make sure Sherlock came when, and only when, Jim damn well felt like it?

It was terrifying…

And thrilling…

And then Jim took his lip in his teeth and laughed down at him and Sherlock knew he should safeword… and knew he wouldn’t.

Jim let go of his lip slowly and purred down at him, “All the better to eat you with, Sherly…”

“You… may be the big bad wolf, but I don’t think I’m little red riding hood…” Sherlock managed to pant.

Jim smiled, darkly, dangerously, and started moving himself over Sherlock and doing things to make sure Sherlock stayed hard. “oooh no, Sherly locks… you tried  too hot, and you tried too cold…” and he felt himself  sinking into Jim–or Jim sinking onto him, “And now it will be just right…”

And then Jim settled onto him and threw his head back and looked up like the stars were visible overhead… “God I love this…”

“In the privacy–”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Sherlock.” Jim growled.

After a moment of considering just who was tied down at the moment Sherlock decided to change the subject, “So are you going to just… sit there?”

“So?” Jim arched an eyebrow, “so what if I am…” and something happened that felt almost painful and quite wonderful as Jim started flexing muscles and making small subtle motions.

“You… are evil.”

“Your point is?”

“Just making sure I’d said it.”

“I appreciate it.” Jim nodded regally and then he grinned… “But we wouldn’t want you to get BORED or anything…” and he reached over for a tube of something and then Sherlock felt fingers reaching down to his legs, and past that to his entrance…

And just a bit too late Sherlock felt the heat…

Jim had the ‘spicy’ lubricant on his fingers, and mucus membranes are the most sensitive… oh hell.

The tips of Jim’s fingers breached his hole while Jim rode him oh so very gently… and he couldn’t possibly come because of the condom and the numbing agent.  In short order Sherlock was cursing Jim in every language he knew, trying to move, trying to throw him off, trying to convince him to  fuck him instead… as intense sensation played  on his thighs and anus… and mild but pleasant sensation–numbed and baffled,  but there– came from being buried in Jim…

Jim was treating Sherlock’s increasingly desperate pleas, and arching back and hips, as though it was  all for his benefit…

And JUST when Sherlock was seriously considering his safeword–because Jim looked entirely too smug– Jim held up a vibrating butt plug.

“Did you, perhaps, want in on the fun?”

“…yes.” He managed to get out.

“Hot or cold, Sherlock?”  Jim’s eyes glittered and he held up two tubes of lubricant between his fingers.

“I hate you.”

Jim rose up on his knees and came back down hard and Sherlock moaned…

“Neither ‘I hate you’ nor ‘you fucking bastard’ are your safe words, darling: hot or cold?”

“Hot… and I’m getting you back for this!”

Jim smirked and coated the butt plug.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, angel.”

Sherlock begged, and moaned, and cursed Jim and his family back seven generations…

And Jim finally couldn’t hold off his own orgasm anymore and collapsed across Sherlock’s chest.

“Now THAT was worth it.”

“…if… you… don’t…” 

“As if I would … leave you?” Jim smirked, “in this state? While I go clean up and take a shower?”

“I will…”

“Will what, Sherlock?  What would you do?”

In a moment of apparent perfect calm Sherlock said, “Probably go insane with lust and boredom, in fact.”  Jim laughed “and then I would have to tie you to the beach chair while I let Sebastian fuck me senseless.”

Jim’s eyes almost gleamed…

Sherlock hurriedly added, “Which I would do anyway, so please for the love of God let me–”

Jim smiled sharply and then said very sweetly, “oh, of course…”

And he loosened the chains on Sherlock’s feet and started moving the plug in and out: sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, and the sensations just kept building…

Eventually, when Sherlock was just able to whimper, Jim put on a condom and fucked him… hitting all the right spots and stroking Sherlock with his hand…

Sherlock finally found release in a haze of sensation, with music and numbers dancing across his mind.

Jim unlocked Sherlock’s hands and curled up next to him.

Sherlock meant to say something–something about turnabout, something about  getting back at him… but Jim was asleep by the time he could speak… he sighed and curled his arm around him and followed him to sleep.


	3. yours, mine, and ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sherlock head to Bermuda, and Sebastian.... 
> 
> First an apology: my proof reader and Beta has been very ill, so this will be corrected and updated as i can- all errors my own.  
> Secondly a reminder: Sebastian is also John Sebastian, Jim is also Charlie, and Sherlock is also William. their names and uses change depending on who is talking or thinking.

William was immensely grateful to be flying first class and in the seat next to Charlie–Charlie taking the aisle seat and acting as a buffer between William and other people–right up until Charlie’s pent up libido proved to be an issue.

“Charlie!” William hissed as Charlie’s hand casually undid his trousers under the blanket.

Charlie looked blissfully unaware with his head phones in… and got his hand into Williams’s pants.  William was reading a book and knew that if he suddenly dropped it and thrust his hands under the blanket there would be… issues.

Charlie continued to play with him– enough to make it agonizingly interesting, but not enough to come– until the stewardess came by with drinks and food, and then Charlie brought his hands out and acted completely innocent…

“I am going to get you for this.” William hissed.

“Better be quick, we only have a short layover.” Charlie said as though he was discussing the weather… and then the bastard started talking about game development.

…

William slammed Charlie up against the wall in the men’s room.  This one had no water and was closed for maintenance and Sherlock half believed that Jim had arranged it.

“Eager much?” Charlie laughed and the wicked glint in his eyes was an incitement to everything.

“Yes.” William held him up against the wall. “I want to fuck you so badly…”

“Even if I said yes, we don’t have time, do we?”

Sherlock dropped to his knees, replicating the first time they met, in a men’s room much less clean, and not as empty…

He’d meant to  leave him desperate and wanting  in payment for the first flight, but  the weight and the taste and Charlie–his Jim!– moaning his name and clutching at his hair… well he and Charlie both had some cleaning up to do.

The water worked fine.  Charlie just smirked.

…

They were met at the airport in Bermuda by John Sebastian, and even in the lights of the airport he glowed tawny and gold. With the tan and the sun bleach in his hair he made Sherlock feel rather gaunt and pale… but he was looking at them both with something like awe, and something like lust.

They were part way to Sebastian’s house when Charlie growled, “Pull over Tiger, unless you want to wreck THIS car, too.”

He pulled over quickly, shutting off the headlights, and Charlie went over the seat from the back and was lying in the passenger side with his head in John’s lap… _Oh_.

“Oh god…” Sebastian moaned and threw his head back.  Wet sucking and licking noises and something like growls came from his lap where Jim was rapidly reducing him to incoherence–his hands were locked into fists by his side.

Sherlock grinned evilly and leaned over the seat, grabbing Sebastian and pulling him in for a kiss. His eyes flew open, shocked and then he melted and opened his mouth and managed one heartfelt, “Please!” as the two of them pulled him apart.

Charlie sat up and pulled the handkerchief from his sniper’s pocket, “Missed you Tiger.”  He said wiping off his mouth and tossing the handkerchief in Sebastian’s lap. “I think William missed you too.”

“Fuck.”

“Well… yes.” Charlie smirked, “but William darling has a treat for you first, so it will just have to wait.

…

John and William were far too exhausted to do much of anything by the time they arrived.  Oh, the deadly Tiger Moran would certainly have woken up if ordered– or if attacked– but John Sebastian, author, was about ready to fall over.

Charlie just laughed, “I’m all revved up…”

“Do you need me sir?”

“Just show me the security and go to bed, Tiger, and no snuggling with William yet, I’ll tuck him in.”

He turned to go and paused, “May I say, Mister Moriarty, that I like you even better when I can sleep without worrying that YOU’LL stab me in my sleep?” he smiled tiredly, “Pretty sure I can take anyone else.”

William yawned, “Not going to sleep?”

“I’ll clean something.  I get too wound up and I can’t sleep and I have to clean something … or stab someone, but I think I’ll clean up.”

Sherlock’s eyes sharpened and then he smiled a very small tired smile. “And you complain about me…”

“What?”

Very softly he said, “The gasket for the fridge is usually awful… if you get in there with a butter knife or a tooth brush you can usually get it clean.”

Charlie blinked confusion at him, “Well… yes? And I bet Sebie has let the inside and back of the oven get nasty… um… wait? How do you know that?”

“Mycroft cleans things when he gets anxious too.” He nodded at a stunned Charlie and went off to bed.

“I am nothing like him!” Charlie yelled after him.

~

The next day–afternoon at least– when everyone was finally awake and had finished some excellent food, Jim smirked and sang, “William got us prezzies…”

“You said something about that?” Sebastian smiled, “So what is it?”

William smirked–a twin to Jim’s expression– and stripped off his clothing, keeping the tattoos concealed.  Then he deliberately turned to show the Magpie and the piercing, keeping his arm in position to hide the tiger for now.

Jim looked avid and delighted as Sebastian got up slowly and admired it. “Wow… that’s… that’s beautiful!”

“The piercing is somewhat new, of course, so some care must be taken.” William grinned. “Charlie seemed … enthused.”

Sebastian looked over at his employer and lover and grinned, “I can imagine–in fact I’m surprised you can walk!”

“I almost couldn’t.” William admitted.

Sebastian saw Jim’s expression go from delighted to wicked–not that far really– and turned back wondering what was going on…

Sherlock Holmes was standing partially turned away with his arms overhead… and a there was a tattooed tiger prowling across his ribs.

“Oh…” Sebastian could barely breathe. “Oh that’s…” he walked up slowly and touched a finger to one of the scars that had been transformed into part of a bamboo forest.

Jim’s familiar hands slid around Sebastian and an Irish lilt purred across his ear, “So, Tiger… shall we see who wears a collar better?  Who can roar the prettiest?”

That peculiar kink that only seemed to exist for Jim Moriarty–under whatever name– dropped him to his knees.  Jim sunk his fingers into his hair and tugged his head back, baring his throat.

“Sherlock…” Jim’s voice was all threats and promises, “Come here… I have plans…”

Sherlock did, in fact, come over, “Do I like these plans?” he asked watching Sebastian held on his knees by the smaller man, head pulled back, eyes almost unseeing, a low rumbling growl coming out of him… that sounded rather enticing.

“Yes,” Jim smirked.

Sherlock came over and was directed to kneel down in front of Sebastian.

“Hold him.” Jim growled in Sebastian’s ear and Sherlock found himself restrained by strong warm arms…

Jim pulled Sebastian’s head to one side and whispered in his ear and Sebastian opened his eyes and…a predatory gleam was there that Sherlock remembered flickering briefly in their prior encounters.

“Sherlock,” Jim purred, “I’m going to fuck my Tiger… I believe you said you wanted to be under him when I did that?”

 _That was an insanely dangerous idea…_ “I’ve always been an addict…” Sherlock murmured, “Yes.”

Jim abruptly let go of Sebastian’s hair. “Sherlylocks still has a tender back, Tiger, so the rug isn’t an option–get the two of you on my bed naked.”

Sherlock found himself swept up and carried into the bedroom before he could protest–not that he wanted to protest, he simply didn’t feel like being carried.

“I have died and gone to heaven…” Murmured Sebastian shedding clothes with some speed.

Sherlock was having some trouble with his shirt and Jim’s lazy wicked voice from the doorway called in, “Tiger? Get that off him…now.”

It was ripped clean down the front in one move.  Sebastian looked like he was going to eat Sherlock alive and the adrenaline went right to Sherlock’s head, and groin. 

Jim sauntered in and tossed Sherlock some lube, “You better start preparing yourself… Sebie dear may have all the patience in the world, but not when I have him like this…” and Jim was on top of Sebastian with a knife to his throat.

Sebastian’s muscles rippled and he dug his fingers into the bed like giant claws.  He bared his teeth in a snarl but didn’t move.  _JIM!_   Was about the only thing he could think… that and this underlying need to tear and move and bite and … as always he wanted to throw Jim down in front of him and fuck him… and he couldn’t possibly move without permission.

“Tiger….” Jim whispered in his ear, as a razor sharp blade kissed his throat, “Now you need to avoid the color on dear Sherlock… but if its unmarked skin? Its fair game….” And the blade moved like a whisper around under his ear and pricked the back of his neck.  He was on fire and …

Yes, there was a beautiful man under him…. looking up at him with eyes like deep black ringed with blue, breathing rapidly and with his lips slightly parted… Sebastian looked down at him with unmistakably hungry eyes and fell on his mouth.

It was a good thing Sherlock had worn a plug–as Jim had suggested; it was a good thing he had used a generous amount of lubrication and prepared himself… because this wasn’t the caring and gentle man that he’d been in bed with before… this was Jim Moriarty’s Tiger.

And as much as he’d wanted to be under him when this happened?  Right now he was in ecstasy, and not at all convinced he would survive.

Sebastian’s hands were warm and didn’t trigger the  panic of metal restraints or cut like plastic ones, but they were nearly as inescapable.

Sebastian heard Jim’s manic laugh behind him and felt the knife blade and a trickle of warmth down his shoulder–blood, some part of his mind supplied, but he didn’t care. Jim had his hands in his hair and directed his mouth to the pretty thing on the bed while Jim thrust into him over and over and fire raced through his veins with every thrust.

Jim’s mouth came down on the little scratch he’d made with the blade, just enough to draw blood, just enough to send his Tiger mad while he fucked him.  Tiger roared when he came and Jim pulled his head back to keep him from collapsing on Sherlock.

Sherlock looked up at Jim–blood on his lips and between his teeth– laughing over the bigger man’s shoulder and he looked like a demon with his eyes so black and the blood… Sherlock tipped over the edge into orgasm.

Jim thrust twice more into Sebastian, feeling him spasming around him and watched Sherlock stare at him with eyes wide and then Sherlock’s face twisted as he came–and that tipped Jim over at last.

“Mine…” Jim hissed

Sebastian threw his hands on either side of Sherlock and braced as Jim let him go, and collapsed over his back. Slowly he lowered himself to one side–Jim sliding off to curl around his back and Sherlock under his arm and trapped by one of his legs.

Sebastian slowly came up from… whatever it was Jim did to him; what Jim always did to him… “Are you alright?”

“That was terrifying and wonderful.” Sherlock said with an awed sounding voice.

“Mmmm.” Jim sighed. “Mine.”

“Ours…” Sherlock murmured.

Sebastian wrapped an arm around each of them, “mine, both of you, and he’s yours, and you’re his, and I think if we try to untangle the pronouns we’ll waste a lot of time.”


	4. Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly travels to Bermuda, pondering what Sherlock told her (prior story) and she finally reads John Sebastian's book "Shooting Pool".

Molly fretted.  Molly was good at fretting; she had a lot of practice. Sherlock hadn’t told her NOT to see John; in fact he’d suggested she go on and do so: he wouldn’t suggest that if she was in danger, would he?  Molly chewed through another nail.

She had a monofin and spandex mermaid tail in her luggage, and she was going to meet her lover– _her lover! Really?_ She didn’t have lovers; she had a cat and a collection of past boyfriends who were all psychopaths or something.

 _He was probably a serial killer_ , she admitted to herself sadly.  She didn’t THINK Sherlock would send her to be murdered as bait, and John could have killed her before… But he was probably a serial killer or a sociopath or something because that was apparently what she liked.

She had purchased his book at the airport.  Once Sherlock had talked to her she decided to read it even though she knew it wasn’t the kind of book she liked.  It was a spy thriller about a…

 _…Killer, of course_.  She sighed as she looked over the blurb again: a sniper working for intelligence and the mob, a double agent who didn’t know where his loyalties lay anymore.   The reviews alone had convinced her not to read it before… besides, John was kind, and handsome and muscled and had a boat and was really REALLY incredible in bed…

She read the book on the plane.

The more she read it the more she wished she hadn’t.

Most of it was fairly standard–too much about guns, too much about knives, too much violence–but there were bits here and there that… that worried her.  The part where he started to fall in love with the man working his way up the criminal ladder…?  That sounded too real.  It was a love for another man and he was denying it and fighting it, and the other man saw it and was reeling him in…

John hadn’t spoken much about his past, other than his love for mermaids… _he was probably gay, wait… he couldn’t be gay– bi?_

When she got to the pool scene, however, her breath caught in her throat.  It wasn’t the same, not at all, but… John–Watson, not Sebastian– had told her about ‘THE pool’… well after the fact…

 

_“His heart almost stopped as he looked through the scope at his target–he knew the man.  Scotty was MI5 and distinctive, and that couldn’t be anyone else:  he kept his aim between those crystal blue eyes and kept the laser sight off._

_His boss walked in, smiling, and they spoke… and Scotty’s partner tried to change the dynamics… He flipped on the laser sight without hesitation: the dot steady between Scotty’s eyes, and waited for the signal…”_

 

Molly slid the place marker into the book and stared into nothing…it wasn’t the SAME… but it was far too close.

If… If John had been working for Mycroft, or MI5…he might have been infiltrated into Moriarty’s…and Sherlock would know… which would be why he wanted me to talk to him…?

By the time she finished the book she knew:  his boss finding out he was a spy, and drugging him to wake up later, when everything was over with; Scotty and the boss in a shootout–­on the roof of course, even if not a hospital­…

John must have worked for Moriarty: Moriarty, not Jim, not sweet Jim she watched Glee with who loved Toby, but Moriarty the madman and killer. John had fallen in love with him, whether anything came of it or not. He and Sherlock knew each other, and the way he described him–well Scotty was blonde and not as tall, but the description was otherwise exact– said that he was at least attracted to Sherlock as well.

The way John described Scotty’s curls was enough to make her need a cold drink.

Come to that John preferred her hair loose, messy, and long…

There was a car and driver waiting for her at the airport: she was very quiet the whole way there… thinking.

Looking at it with clear eyes the house was bigger than she should have expected, more luxurious: she remembered the interior, plain but expensive, and his boat...  _It’s too rich,_ she thought _, unless he inherited money; it’s too rich._  A small part of her whispered _, working for Moriarty probably paid well._

John came out to help her with her bags.  He was tall, and tan, and wearing swim trunks for the benefit of the driver–Molly knew first hand he had no body modesty. _He’s gotten a new tattoo._ She didn’t say anything until they were inside.

“Molly? Is something wrong?”

“I read your book.”

He blinked, “I thought you didn’t like that kind of stuff?”

“I don’t.” she swallowed and looked up at those beautiful honest kind eyes. “Sherlock’s alive.”

John smiled slightly, “yeah, I know.”

“You knew him?”

“Not really, no.”  He picked up her bags and walked away: she followed him.

John continued, “I didn’t know him until after we met… I knew OF him, and I’d seen him, but I hadn’t met him.”

“So not like Scotty, then.”  She sighed, “That… it sounded…”

“He’s bloody gorgeous, yes, but no there wasn’t a personal connection or anything: that was for the book.”  He put her bags on the bed. “This is your room, and if… there’s a lot we need to talk about and if you don’t want to deal with me, well… this is yours.  My room is on the other side of the house–so are the other guests’ rooms.”

“Other guests?” she startled.

He slipped an arm around her, “Come on… I think you may want a drink in hand for this.”

She walked back with him.  He was tall and warm and strong and it was comfortable. “Are you going to kill me? Because I really hope Sherlock didn’t send me here thinking–”

“What?” John stopped and looked at her, “NO I am not going to kill you.  I was never going to kill you–never wanted to hurt you–and if I so much as put a scratch on you that you didn’t want I’d be in pieces anyway.”

She could hear sounds of a pool and splashing on the other side of the kitchen, see a glimpse of sun against the deck and bright blue…  John poured her a drink and waited.

“You worked… you worked for Moriarty?” she finally asked. She was biting her lip even though she knew it made her look like a kid.

John smiled and touched her chin gently, tilting her face up, “Yes.  I was his chief of staff and his best sniper.”

“… and you worked for intelligence?”

He shook his head, “Not at the same time, no.  No, I wasn’t infiltrating into his network for anyone else–that was for the book.  I did some intelligence work before I ever met him though.”

“You had the… you were at the pool?”

“Yes.”

She thought about Watson and how his hand clenched whenever he thought about it. “… and Sherlock knows?”

“He came and found me tracking down Jim’s old people.” John grinned, his eyes crinkling up as he smiled, “We came to an agreement: I’m officially dead and he never found me–for however long that holds up.”

She tried to puzzle it out, “Did you love him? Jim, I mean… the way you talk about him in your book...”

John sat down on a bar stool and pulled her into his lap, “We were lovers, kind of.  I found out later that he really did care for me, but he had no idea how to… how to do that.” He looked at her seriously, “Jim is my whole life, and I loved him but I had no idea he loved me… at best I thought he was fond of me.”

“Why… why didn’t you…” She was missing something… “You aren’t going to try to hurt anyone? Now that you know Sherlock is alive?”

“No.” he shook his head. “But there’s a LOT you need to know…”

“So tell me.” She said firmly.

“I know you can keep a secret…”

“I won’t keep anything from Sherlock that he–”

“He knows, and you can tell him anything you want, just don’t let Mycroft hear it.”

“Oh.” she blinked, “Go on?”

“Sherlock was off being William Scott…” she nodded and he continued, “and my name really is John Sebastian, kind of… but it’s John Sebastian Augustus Moran–Sebastian Moran: formerly Colonel Moran.”

“That makes sense,” she nodded, “you look it, really… and you were…”

“Jim’s right hand.”  John smiled at her. “Jim liked you, you know; that’s why you never had a threat against you.”

She inhaled sharply. “I thought… I thought I was just too unimportant…” _Sherlock said Jim liked me…_

Sebastian shook his head, “You spent time with him, you saw him up close: you were a potential witness. If he didn’t actually like you he would have had you killed as a matter of course.”

She hung her head, “I thought he was… nice.  He was… he was just acting.”

“He was just acting,” Sebastian nodded, “and he wasn’t nice…but he’s not the monster people made him out to be either.”

Molly slowly looked up from her drink.  _I’m sitting in the lap of Moriarty’s right hand man, the sniper from the pool… and he keeps using the present tense…and Sherlock…_ “You said I could tell Sherlock any of this?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know Jim’s alive?”

John’s mouth dropped open and slowly closed in a smile, “Doctor Hooper, I apologize for underestimating you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have many issues with canon Molly Hooper (and fanon pairings) but one thing is certain: she is very smart.  
> (she has some serious issues with her judgement in relationships, but... she isnt stupid.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know... this much of a briefing needs more drinks first.

Molly’s eyes went wide and she slid off of John’s – _Sebastian’s_?– lap, and walked toward the pool in a daze.  John had taught her to swim with a monofin in this pool… she’d become intimately acquainted with far too many places in and near it… and there were people… splashing…

She pushed open the door to the pool, feeling like Dorothy opening the door into Oz…

Sherlock was there, but he was a merman? No, he was wearing a tail… it looked like his skin faded down into black scales and hints of iridescent blue… Molly couldn’t help but stare: he was good looking normally but this? This was unearthly…

John slid his arms around her, “Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

 _They_?  And Molly finally followed the path of the water to the other… There was a merman in a tail of electric blue, with brown patterning that matched the blue and brown in his hair… he was swimming laps underwater…

It wasn’t until he came up, laughing, that she realized… _Jim_.

She turned her head, staring up at Sebastian with her mouth open… unable to say anything.

~

Sherlock saw Molly come out–they’d known when she arrived of course– but he really didn’t know what one SAID under these situations: “Hi Molly, I’m sleeping with my enemy and your ex? And also with John?”  didn’t seem correct.  He waited for Jim to come up: he was better at these things.

Jim finished swimming a lap: the man had phenomenal breath control, and it was interesting to see it being put to use this way. Sherlock had been counting seconds and considering whether blow jobs counted as practice for diving or diving counted as practice for blow jobs…

“Molly!” Jim said brightly leaning up against the edge of the pool.

“Jim?” she looked at him and looked at Sherlock.

Sebastian said VERY smugly, “She figured out you were alive before I told her.”

“Well she is a very intelligent woman,” Sherlock nodded–that was a safe enough thing to discuss.

“Now you two need to get out and into the shade… and for the love of all that’s unholy get out of those tails before–” he snapped his mouth shut.

“I suspect she will need to hear about our arrangements,” Sherlock sighed, “and I did think she already knew about your mermaid fetish.”

“Y-You… Ummm… you two…” she was staring at them with wide eyes, “… Make very nice mermaids?” she trailed off in her usual squeak.

“Mermen.” Sniffed Jim, “and only as a favor to Sebie… I’m a kelpie if I’m anything, but he liked this tail.”

Sherlock struggled to get up onto the edge and Sebastian walked over and helped haul him out. “Oooh look, I caught one!” He said grinning happily.

Jim pulled himself up without difficulty. “Tiger…” his voice had a warning in it, “Give Molly a chance to adjust.”

“It… was pretty obvious from the book that he thought Sherlock was… attractive… and…” she looked a bit pained, “that he was in love with his boss.”

Sebastian put Sherlock down in one of the lounge chairs, “It’s not quite the way you think…”

Sherlock snorted, “It probably is. Sit down, Molly.”  He was peeling off his tail with effort.

“That really looks good on you, it looks like part of you–I mean before you started taking it off.” Molly said quietly.

“Shall I be blunt?” Sherlock asked struggling to peel off the tail without peeling of his swim briefs–Molly was unlikely to comfortable with nudity yet.

Molly smiled faintly, “Aren’t you always?”

“No, but…” Sherlock sighed, “Jim was living as Charlie Jameson, in New York, and–”

“Wait!” she stared back at Jim who had already shed his tail and walked over to the bar, “The game designer who helped Sherlock?!”

~

Sherlock looked startled and then unhappy–probably unhappy that he hadn’t known she knew.

Jim grinned, “Talking to Mikey?”

“He, ummm, he kept me informed… a little… usually when I tried to quit.”

She was looking around with those big wide eyes that usually made Jim want to punch her: he sighed, “Sebastian there was and is my right hand…and…honestly I didn’t like admitting I felt anything back–even if I did.”  He waved at Sherlock, “I don’t know how much you got told about the background between us; I expect not much.”

Sebastian led her over to the bar and Sherlock walked over as well.  Jim handed Sherlock his drink and asked Molly what she’d like.

“She likes sweet drinks with a kick.” Sebastian answered for her, sitting down next to her and keeping a hand on her shoulder.

Jim handed Sebie his, and set to making Molly a drink, “Short form?  I never expected to see him again after the roof… I set up a new life; Sebie was finally down in Florida…”

Jim sighed, “Charlie…developed friends.” 

He handed her her drink. “Living a new life, full time, with friends? It changes you.”

Sherlock nodded, “Living in hiding, changing your identity, always running?  It changes you as well.”

~

“So you…” she looked back at Sebastian whose hand was still resting comfortably on her, “How?”

“I was in New Orleans chasing down what I had thought was part of Jim’s business–it turned out to be unaffiliated– and got captured, drugged, and escaped…” Sherlock said looking off at nothing and then suddenly smiling at Jim, “And this stranger saved my life.”

Jim put his hand on Sherlock’s hand over the bar. “I was in New Orleans on business and it would have looked funny if Charlie didn’t stay the extra day or two for Mardi Gras… you can imagine my shock when I saw Sherlock running from trouble– almost into me.”

“Coincidence?” Molly looked back and forth dubiously.

“Yes, although you can follow the threads and see how it happened,” Jim nodded and sipped his drink.

“We were both masked, and Charlie has a shock of blue hair… and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo.” Sherlock smiled, “and if he resembled Jim just a little, I didn’t make anything of it.”

Molly looked over all the tattoos on Jim. “I never saw him in this little…” _He certainly hadn’t had the one on his leg or his arm…_ Molly did a double take and stared at Sherlock, “You got tattoos! Oh my God!”

“Just noticed?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“I was a bit distracted!!!!” Molly said defensively.

Sherlock sat up, raising an arm to let her see the tiger fully, and then turning to face her. “We are all getting tattoos to represent each other,” he considered and touched his chest, “Plus this one.”

“Memento Vivare, Memento Mori,” Molly nodded, “I have that on a cross stitch.” She looked back and forth, “I noticed John had gotten it, but I hadn’t had time to…” she looked around at all three of them with the identical tattoos over their hearts–well, over their chests, she knew where the heart was and that wasn’t quite it. “Are you…? I mean… you all got matching…?”

Sherlock nodded. “Jim and Sebastian had a sexual relationship before his ‘death’ but now that Jim has become more comfortable with emotional attachments it has become a great deal more.”

Sebastian sighed, “Jim had an obsession with Sherlock… well I always thought that if they did get together I’d be lucky to even see him again.”  Sebastian reached out and put his hand over the two of theirs gently.

Sherlock snorted, “Given my own limited interest in sex, and Jim’s libido, that would have been a disaster, but you are intriguing in your own right.”

Molly felt like she might faint and took a large swallow of the fruity colorful thing Jim had given her–that was a mistake and everything stopped while Sebastian patted her back and Sherlock got a bar towel to clean up.

Jim was grinning, and he looked very little like her Jim, really. “Sebastian likes girls– and specifically asked about you– and Sherlock insisted that you be fully informed so you could decide what you wanted to do.”

“So… all THREE of you?” she hated the way her voice squeaked.

Sherlock shrugged, “Occasionally. More often it’s Jim and myself, or Jim and Sebastian.  The living arrangements–not to mention the issues surrounding my brother– are a bit complex.”

~

Sebastian pulled her into his lap, “I wanted to be able to continue what we had.  Sherlock and Jim both wanted to make sure you were… well, not being lied to.”

Sherlock saw the thought cross her face and said as gently as he could, “Molly, it is extremely unlikely that you and I will ever…” he glanced at Jim and Sebastian, “You aren’t really my interest in that way–what little interest I have.”

Jim shrugged, “Sherlock is demisexual or grey asexual or whatever they call it these days… or maybe just a really low libido and a lot of issues.”  He grinned over her shoulder at Sebastian. “I, on the other hand…”

Sebastian grinned back.

Molly frowned, “So where do I fit into all of this?”

Jim opened his mouth and Sherlock glared at him. “Not now.” He looked at her, “He was about to make a rude comment for effect.”

“True.” Jim sipped his drink.

Sherlock adopted his usual explaining pose–and it was weird to see him doing it in nothing but a barely there swim brief– “Sebastian wishes to continue a relationship with you.  Jim is, I believe, curious to find out more about you now that he isn’t playing a role.  MY main insistence was that you have the information you needed to give informed consent.”

“Isn’t… um…John?” She glanced at Sebastian and added, “Doctor Watson, I mean…”

“John and I have discussed things,” Sherlock nodded, “and have agreed that, especially given my limited sexual interests and his predominantly heterosexual orientation; we do not wish to jeopardize our friendship over sex.” He blinked at her, “He doesn’t know who Charlie is… neither does Mycroft of course.”

Jim looked at her and it was… it was nothing at all like her Jim, or even the laughing man who’d been standing there a moment ago. “Mycroft may eventually find out, Molly, but you will NOT tell anyone.”

“D-do I have to… Can I have a few minutes to think about this?”

Sherlock nodded. “No one will force you into anything; no one will even insist you stay. My only request is that you do NOT tell anyone who ‘John’ and ‘Charlie’ are­–or were– without our permission.”

Sebastian kissed her neck gently, “Dinner in a couple of hours–I’ll call you.”

“Right…um…” and she turned and walked very unsteadily back into the house.

~

“Well that went well!” Jim said brightly.

“Did it?” Sherlock sounded dubious.

“No screaming, no fainting, no threats and no one is bleeding!”

Sebastian sighed, “Yes, well…” he held up his glass and they all touched glasses, “We have a fairly strange idea of ‘going well’, don’t we?”

Sherlock looked amused, “If you are only now figuring that out…”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mostly Molly's POV... its been a shock.  
> (my proof reader is still too ill to proof read, so bear with me- thanks)

Molly made it as far as the living room before she collapsed onto a couch.  After blinking at the harmless looking drink still in her hand she found a coaster and made a point of putting it down between sips… I’m drinking a tropical cocktail made by Jim Moriarty, who is apparently John Sebastian’s boss, and…

She put her head in her hands, “Oh God… I AM only attracted to psychopaths and serial killers!” she looked mournfully at her drink and tried to order her thoughts.

_Jim–verifiably a killer– was possibly interested in her._

_John–apparently a killer for Moriarty, among other things– was definitely interested in her._

_Sherlock–the only one who WASN’T a killer, and whom she’d been pining after for years– didn’t think she was his type._

She finished off the drink and put her head back in her hands.

“That bad?” Molly registered Jim’s voice a moment before a weight settled onto the couch next to her.

“Apparently every man I’ve been involved with is a psychopath or a serial killer…” she looked dubiously at him–he looked quite attractive and completely different than Jim from IT.

“Aw… surely not every one?” Jim asked with an amused smirk, “I mean you had to have had a few boyfriends before Sherly.”

“He says he’s a high functioning sociopath,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “except he isn’t… and he also is the only one of the three of you NOT interested.”

“In fairness he’s barely interested in anyone until you get him going,” Jim shrugged. “I don’t think girls are his type, but if you stuck around he might develop an interest–might not though.” Jim put down something that looked suspiciously like ginger ale, “and he’s not a sociopath or a psychopath… Sebastian isn’t either…quite…”

“Quite?!”

“Well, I mean… he kills people.” Jim shrugged, “he did it for the military and intelligence before I got him, and he killed people for me… it takes a bit of an odd mind set to kill someone for no better reason that money or orders–anyone can kill people for passion.”

“I couldn’t!”

Jim looked at her and sighed, “Molly… trust me, if you got scared enough or angry enough, and you had a gun in your hand… you could.” He nodded at the glass of ginger ale, “you might feel horrible after, but yes you could.” He sat back, “Humans are inherently vicious.”

“I don’t think I could” Molly muttered.

“You never know what you can do until you have to… so… anyway, Sherlock is fretting his curly head about you, and Sebastian is trying to look unconcerned and pacing… so I came in to see how you were doing.”

“…YOU want to… get involved with me? You were rather convincingly gay… and…” she waved dubiously toward the pool.

“I prefer men but why limit myself…” Jim smirked, “and as we explained, Sebastian prefers girls, he just has a thing for me and he always thought Sherlock was pretty.”

“Who EXACCTLY is involved with who? And how?  I... I don’t think I understand.”

“It is in fact complicated, but,” Jim considered, “the short form is this:  I had a VERY unhealthy relationship with Sebastian before I faked my death.  I think he explained a bit, but… I was… I was rather abusive to him.”

She looked over Jim’s head to Sebastian’s height and back down at Jim, “YOU were?”

Jim sprawled back on the couch, “Yes, Molly dear–I was. I have a lot of very bad habits, and I’m working on getting over them but it’s a process.  Anyway, Sebastian was always ridiculously loyal, and wanted more than I was able to admit to…then.”

He took a sip of her ginger ale and put it back.

“I started out hung up on Sherlock, then after… Well some issues… I hated him… and then as I said we ran into each other and… I started to realize I still cared–in fact it was worse because in the meantime I created this whole new life.”

“As Charlie, the game designer that Sherlock is seeing…”

Jim nodded. “So, Sherlock and I got together when he came to New York, and found out who I was–I knew who William was, of course. And then we went to talk to Sebastian and hammered out an agreement between the three of us.”

“Because… you... um… have… more interest?”

“I have a very high sex drive.” Jim shrugged. “Sebastian can usually keep me quite busy,  but Sherlock has a very low sex drive–although honestly I think it’s higher than we all thought, he just… it takes him a bit to get interested.”

“And I’d be what?” Molly said a bit bitterly, looking into her glass. “a toy?”

Jim snorted at her. “Sebastian would like a steadier relationship with you.  If you want? You have a relationship with him and you don’t get involved with sherly or me… if you want to be part of the group arrangements? You can be… I have no idea how interested I’ll be–right now I’m mostly curious, playing a role is a different perspective–and I have no expectation that Sherlock will be.” Jim shrugged, “The main thing to realize is that even if you had a relationship with Sebastian?  Even if you two got married and you never so much as glanced at the two of us that way? Sebastian is involved with me and Sherlock, not just you–that won’t change.”

“I need to think a lot.”

“Take your time, it’s a big house–pool, beach, you have the run of the place.” Jim got up, “We’ll be eating in about an hour.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Jim nodded, wondering what she was going to ask, calculating odds…

“When did you know Sherlock wasn’t dead?”

“You know, Molly, you are one of the few people who routinely manages to surprise me–that wasn’t in my top five.”

“Your what?”

“I was betting on what question you were going to ask.” Jim tilted his head, “I knew he was planning to fake his death before we got to the roof–at least I knew he was prepared to try.  I wasn’t certain he had succeeded for a few days… well really I wasn’t certain for the first week.” Jim looked at her and smiled, “you did a good job.”

“…thanks?” she was chewing her lip again, “how did you find out?”

“Ask me later.”

“…it wasn’t anything I did wrong?”

Jim blinked and then shook his head, “No, it wasn’t your fault. You really need to do something about your self-confidence issues, Mols.”

“It’s… it’s just that everyone else is so much smarter!”

“No, not really,” Sherlock spoke from the doorway. “You are far smarter than most of the people I deal with, Molly–do stop putting yourself down.  In any case it’s much more likely that Mycroft or I made a mistake out of over confidence once we thought Jim was dead.”

Jim walked over and kissed Sherlock, “got it in one, William–of course that was part of the point of my being dead.” He slapped him on the ass as he walked out: Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“You… um…”

Sherlock tried not to fidget or snap at her, “I what?”

“Were you… um… lovers before? You sometimes acted like it…”

Sherlock winced. “No… or …I didn’t realize just how much of an attraction I was developing until… until it was too late.  Jim says it was much the same for him–except he’s interested in sex.”

“You… aren’t?”

“I very rarely was… it was a hit of chemicals–not as good as drugs, but…” he edited several comments, “I am beginning to think the correct term is demisexual: while I enjoyed the result of sex, it didn’t interest me unless I was–”

“Emotionally invested.” Molly nodded.

Sherlock blinked at her several times, “YOU know that term?”

“Well… um… yes?”

Sherlock came over and sat down, “I hadn’t heard of it. I thought something was wrong with me… apparently it’s not entirely uncommon.”

“I had my college roommates and friends trying to diagnose me all through  school–some of them still do...” Molly said quietly, “I had to look up a lot.”

“Oh.” Sherlock sat quietly for a while, “apparently I’m on the autistic spectrum?”

“Didn’t you know that?”

“…no.”

“Oh, I… well I mean you and Mycroft are both pretty strange.”

Sherlock smiled, “a concise summary.”

“… you… um... and Jim?... and.. John? My John?”

“I kept picking up people that resembled John–Watson– or Jim, with disastrous results.  Then Charlie saved my life, and then he saved my life again.  After that I was talking to him by text and through the game sometimes…and then I came home and John had moved on…”

“-and you ran off to New York.” Molly nodded.

“And very quickly found out that Charlie… I had been concerned that I couldn’t be anything but friends with Charlie because I still had such complicated feelings for and about Jim– it was honestly a relief to find they were the same person, however changed by time and circumstance.” Sherlock looked directly at Molly, “We have both changed.”

“I noticed.”  She looked toward the kitchen and sighed, “And John? Sebastian?”

I’d found him when I was still hunting… he made it clear he found me attractive, but it was also clear he had been devoted to Jim… I admit at first the attraction was mostly curiosity. Someone who had been Jim’s lover?… and then the practical issues of course:   Jim does have a rather high libido; the two of us were going to run into incompatibility issues fairly quickly.”

Sebastian came in, “probably, but you seem to be getting more interested over time.”

Sherlock shook his head, “yes, but I was also spending quite some time in England with only the occasional skype or sexting to Jim, and that was a lot for me– going two weeks without sex is a hardship for Jim; it is quite acceptable for me.”

Molly was trying very hard not to fidget, but she ended up crossing and uncrossing her legs. Sitting here listening to Sherlock and Sebastian talk about sex… “Um… Can we… change the subject?”

Sherlock glanced over at her, “If you need to relieve your sexual frustration before dinner I assure you–”

“Sherlock!!!!”  Molly put her hand over her face.

“… That was one of those things you don’t comment on, right…” Sherlock looked at Sebastian biting his lip and trying not to laugh, “as if we don’t just discuss it casually?”

“We do, and that’s mostly because you and Jim like to plot…” Sebastian grinned, “anyway… dinner soon.  Molly: Jim likes to dress up; I don’t, so we compromised on no bathing suits at the table unless we’re eating by the pool.”

“Which is my cue to go change.” Sherlock nodded and got up.

“I’ll just… wash my hands…” and Molly fled to her room.

**Author's Note:**

> https://tomsmith.bandcamp.com/track/bermuda-triangle  
> for my favorite "Bermuda Triangle" song


End file.
